


Cover Me (Slowly)

by peevee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, F/M, Fem!mycroft, Genderswap, PWP, Pegging, Rimming, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:33:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peevee/pseuds/peevee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t know why you persist with these obnoxious dullards,” Sherlock murmured into her neck, spidery fingers edging under her waistband.</p><p>“He had a very nice cock,” she said, palming Sherlock’s through his trousers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cover Me (Slowly)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirstenlouise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirstenlouise/gifts).



> Some hastily written porn as requested by kirstenlouise who wanted something based on [this](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/20063.html?thread=120273247#t120273247) prompt. 
> 
> As I have a bit of a block when it comes to writing Jim, I indulgently went for some fem!Mycroft/Sherlock, because it's my party and i'll genderswap Mycroft if I want to ;)
> 
> Un-beta'd, un-everything'd, but ehhh. Porn? Yay?
> 
> The title is from the Deerhunter song of the same name because I am terrible at titles.

Steve, he’d said his name was. Steve. Mycroft had never been a proponent of judging a book by its cover, but good _God_ , was there a duller name than Steve? He was certainly living up to it. 

“Yeah, come on. You love that. You’re so tight, fuck.”

She was grateful he wasn’t at an angle to see the eye-roll.

He slid two fingers perfunctorily into her arse, slick with lube. She resisted letting out a sigh and squirmed impatiently, slightly hopeful. Oh, there was promise in that, his fingers hooking in and out just as rough as she liked it, spreading slightly as they pulled out of her. She panted a little, heat swooping in her belly as he thrust back in and then, fuck, fuck, pulled out. She slumped forward a little, face pressing into the pillow to stop herself letting out a groan that wouldn’t be mistaken as anything other than hopeless disappointment. Loath as she was to admit it, Sherlock’s advice to her to stop being so shallow in the selection of men she brought to her bed was perhaps more sound than she’d thought. Sherlock was, after all, not a complete idiot. Steve pressed the head of his cock against her hole.

“Oh, fuck yeah. That’s it. I can’t believe you like this so much.”

Well, at least somebody was having fun. It felt good, she supposed. His cock _was_ rather lovely - long and slim and curved - and as he slid inside her she couldn’t suppress a long, low moan just from the feeling of being penetrated so deeply. A man’s cock could really be his saving grace. She let out a little sigh of pleasure as he ground his hips against hers, then drew out slowly and fuck, yes, pushed back into her so deeply it made her gasp. Mmm. She felt hot, thick pleasure beginning to coalesce in her belly with each slide, and there, there, _oh_ \--!

“Fuck!” said Steve, tensing up behind her suddenly, then “unngh,” as he slumped across her back. 

She clenched her hand to stop herself punching something in frustration.

-

“I don’t know why you persist with these obnoxious dullards,” Sherlock murmured into her neck, spidery fingers edging under her waistband.

“He had a very nice cock,” she said, palming Sherlock’s through his trousers.

“Yet not a clue what to do with it, hm?” He arched into her hand slightly.

“Oh, and you do?”

“Obviously.”

As far as she knew, she was the only person who’d ever seen her brother like this; flushed and glassy eyed and soft with pleasure. There was something about him that was oddly vulnerable, which was, she suspected, why he never indulged with anyone other than her. Lack of experience didn’t necessarily equate to lack of skill, though.

“I’ve decided,” she said, spreading her legs and grinding against him softly, “to teach the next one. Mmm.”

“Oh?” said Sherlock, voice wavering a little.

“Yes. I bought myself a cock. And a rather pretty one it is too. Would you like to see?”

Sherlock’s curiosity was written as clear as day all over his face, and she gave one last squirm in his lap and hopped off, pulling her skirt back down as she bent to retrieve the little black box from the back of her wardrobe.

It was long and black and rather intimidating. The head was smooth and tapered, not particularly realistic looking, and attached to it were three thin black leather straps with adjustable buckles. Sherlock peered at them, fascinated. There was no possible way Mycroft could miss the flush that had risen on his face, the way his tongue had darted out to wet his lower lip, and he was making no effort to hide it. The decision was easy.

“Take your clothes off,” she said. “And turn over.”

With only a tiny moment of hesitation, he wriggled out of his trousers, flinging them to the floor and following with his shirt. He rolled onto his stomach, turning his head to look at her a little nervously. She moved off the bed, leaning over to smooth his curls from his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Relax,” she murmured. “Let me teach you.” 

“Are you going to-,” he swallowed, “to fuck me?”

She allowed herself a shiver of pleasure at the word rolling uncertainly off his tongue as she shed her clothes on the floor.

“Yes. I’m going to show you how. Spread your legs.”

He did so, grinding into the mattress almost imperceptibly, and she climbed in between his thighs and smoothed her hands softly up over them, spreading him open a little. She leaned forward.

“What are you, are you-- _oh!_ ” he gasped. “ _Mycroft_.”

Mycroft smiled, and touched her tongue to him again, just a tiny delicate brush, tasting. His arsehole was just as pretty as the rest of him - dusky pink and blood-hot against her mouth. His whole body was tense, trembling with the effort of keeping himself still, and she breathed out against him, watching as he twitched and squirmed towards her, pressing his face into the pillow.

“I, _God_ , oh my God,” he moaned. She let her tongue press a bit more firmly, circling it rhythmically around his hole but never quite pressing _in_ until he was pushing back against her in a way that was practically begging, and she finally relented and slid the tip of her tongue down to push just ever so slightly inside him.

“Ohhh,” came Sherlock’s muffled groan as he tensed bodily and arched against her, “oh, Christ, Mycroft.”

She licked slow and languorous, sliding her tongue into him and wiggling it slightly, making him swear and squirm as she pinned his hips with her hands. He was slick and soft inside, muscles clutching and quivering, and she mouthed at him indulgently, sucking gentle kisses that made him grit out soft, needful noises into the pillow.

“You have to- _unh_ ,” he panted, “I’m going to -- God, I,”

She drew back with one final swirl of her tongue and he groaned piteously; she bit him lightly on one soft pale buttock.

“Mycroft,” he groaned, spreading his legs wider. She felt her breath catching for a second; God, the _desperation_ in his voice. She’d never seen him this wrecked, and she felt a surge of want sharpen between her legs. God, yes, she wanted him. Wanted to take him, fuck him until he came.

“Sherlock,” she said. “Let me--”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” he panted, cutting her off. “Just. Do it. Please.”

She twisted from the bed and he turned to look at her, eyes hooded. As she buckled the leather straps carefully, methodically, she allowed her eyes to crawl over him, drinking in the soft sheen of sweat on his face, his slightly open mouth.

“What do you want, hm?” she asked, leaning back over him to press a curious thumb against his hole. He arched into the touch.

“That, yes, _ah_ ,”

He was still a little wet from her mouth, and surprisingly relaxed, and her thumb slid almost halfway in before encountering resistance. Sherlock swallowed as she pressed it fractionally deeper, gasping when the webbing of her thumb was pressed flush against him. She cupped the rest of her fingers against the soft skin of his balls and stroked gently; he squirmed against the sheets.

Slicking her fingers generously with lubricant, she pointed two together and slid them inwards, feeling as he first tensed up around them, drawing in a sharp, short breath, and then gradually relaxed to let her slide deeper. She drew them out slowly and pushed back in, gathering a gentle rhythm, deep and leisurely. One look at Sherlock’s face had her pulse skipping in anticipation; his mouth hung open, his eyes closed, lids fluttering.

With two fingers still fucking him slowly, she used her other hand to slick up her cock, fisting herself obscenely, already picturing how he was going to look red and wet and stretched around it. 

“Beautiful,” she murmured, curling her fingers and making him tense, shiver. His hole was already a little pinker, swollen just a tiny bit with being stretched, and she couldn’t resist the urge to slide her tongue over tender skin, tasting lubricant.

Sherlock made a noise, a choking little sob of a sound, and she couldn’t hold back any longer.

She leaned back, grasping hold of her slick-shiny cock and pressing it lightly against his hole. He tensed immediately, but the way he rocked back slightly, just letting the very tip slip inside him and out again, had him dropping his head forwards into the pillow, arching his back for more. She let him fuck himself shallowly like that until he was panting, and then slowly, oh so slowly, she leaned forward, allowing him to take more of her with each shivering roll of his hips. His movements were almost frantic now, fucking himself, trying to take more and more and not quite able to get the angle or the leverage. Eventually she took pity on him, pinned his hips firmly, and sunk all the way in with one smooth thrust.

“Ah!” he said. “Oh, oh, fu--”

She ground into him deeply and he drew in a huge, gasping breath.

“Fuck!”

“Mm, you like this,” she breathed into his neck, mouthing at his trembling skin and moving her hips slowly.

“It’s-- _fuck_ , it’s so much--you’re, you, _ohh_ right there, right there,”

“Take what you want, Sherlock,” she soothed, bracing herself above him so he could grind back onto her. He panted, squirming, hands fisting in the sheets, and she saw the exact moment he found the perfect angle because he almost collapsed out of his rhythm, and his mouth opened in a perfect little ‘O’.

He fucked himself deliciously slowly, drawing forwards until the tip slipped just out of him before sliding backwards and grinding down as deep as he could. She was so aroused she could feel the wetness smeared on her thighs and on the dildo where it was attached to her, and just the tiny bit of stimulation whenever he ground sweetly into her was almost enough, _almost_.

“Are you close?” she murmured.

Sherlock swallowed audibly, and breathily, as if he could hardly speak, said “I can’t--I can’t--ngh,”

“You can’t come like this, hm? Poor thing. Lift.”

Slowly he pushed himself to his knees, gasping with every shift of her inside him. She slid back in to the hilt and reached around, finding him _dripping_ wet, her hand slipping easily over the foreskin as he jerked with a gasp and then held still, trembling between the dildo and her hand as she fucked him shallowly and fisted his slippery cock.

He was normally a little vocal as he approached orgasm, little murmurs and noises, sometimes letting her know in his lovely, treacly voice that he was about to come, because he knew it aroused her. This time, though, he was completely silent; struck dumb by her cock and her hand, and that almost aroused her more than his breathy little moans. Suddenly, he tensed underneath her and _oh_ , she felt as he started to come, cock pulsing and skipping in her grip. He gasped desperately, sounding like he had forgotten to breathe for too long, and pressed his face into the pillow with a muffled _oh, Jesus fuck_ and she felt the hot wet spill of his come through her fingers. 

-

As soon as she’d carefully pulled out of his body, she rolled off and arched off the bed with a moan. She grasped hold of the cock, still slippery and so _warm_ from his body that it felt absolutely filthy to just spread her legs and grind against the inner surface of it. She rolled her hips, gasping, and all of a sudden Sherlock had twisted around on the bed and was pushing her thighs apart around his head, darting his tongue out against her arsehole which was still mostly covered by one thin leather strap. 

“Yes,” she gasped, “oh, that’s it.”

He lapped lightly, and Mycroft felt herself opening and _grasping_ at his tongue as all her muscles fluttered with impending orgasm. 

“That’s perfect, Sherlock, so good, oh, you’re so good--”

She trailed off, arching hard against Sherlock’s tongue as she came in a hot, blooming wave. Her nipples tingled. Her skin tingled. Sherlock was still licking her lightly and she opened her thighs wider to the touch even as she shuddered and gasped.

“Get this off,” growled Sherlock, tugging at the cock. She fumbled to unbuckle the straps and then he was pushing it off her and dragging his tongue lazily up between her labia with a sigh. There was something lovely about the fact that his touch was mostly exploratory rather than intentionally arousing. Little, tasting flicks all over, dipping in and lapping, and then ever so soft sucking. She felt as though she was practically melting into the duvet. It felt like hours before he finally tongued at her clitoris, but there was no urgency in her. She arched into his touch and he flicked a little faster, gaining a bit more rhythm as she moaned and sighed and squirmed. God, she wanted his mouth on her forever. 

He surfaced, gasping, face glistening in the low light. She beckoned him close and he practically fell on top of her; she could feel him hard, urgent again against her thigh. He shifted a little, then groaned as the head of his cock dragged up over her, _ridiculously_ wet and slippery. 

“I won’t need much preparation,” she murmured, kissing the sharp, salty flavour from his lips. “Just a generous amount of lubricant.”

Sherlock drew in a sharp breath against her mouth, then scrambled for the tube, hips rutting a little against her. She closed her eyes, but they flew open as she felt him pressing two fingers against her hole. She was so wet from both herself and his tongue that even without lubricant they would have slipped in easily, and she arched upwards. 

His fingers stroked softly, hesitantly, and she let her head fall back as they moved intimately, exploratory. She imagined she could almost feel the spiral whorls of his fingertips on the soft slickness inside her.

“Are you...can I--?” His throat clicked as he swallowed.

“ _Yes_ ,”

“I want to--to...you, _oh_ ,” he breathed, pulling his fingers back and grasping his cock, pressing it ever so lightly against her. He rubbed his glans up and down, eyes fluttering shut then snapping open again to fix on where he was pushing in, slowly, slowly. His mouth fell open. Mycroft resisted the urge to grab hold of his arse and pull him deep, letting him sink forwards at his own pace. To her delight, he shifted and pushed her thighs until they were spread as wide as she could get them, gaze absolutely unwavering from where she was stretched tight around his cock. God, he felt glorious. He was deep, deeper than was entirely comfortable but she relished that low ache as he moaned and ground roughly into her. His mouth was open and wet against her shoulder, and she drew him up to kiss him, drinking in the little noises that fell from his lips.

“Ah, _Sherlock_.”

“ _Mycroft_ ,” he groaned.

God, the feel of him. The fact that it was _Sherlock_. Sherlock fucking her. The way that he was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before. The way that he looked as wanton as she’d ever seen him, the tender curve of his mouth soft. Everything was making her feel like she was expanding outwards, skin vibrating and shifting against her muscles. She arched up and kissed his lower lip, slow, lush and he kissed back with a hitch of breath. Heat pooled between her legs with every touch of his tongue to her mouth, every shift of him inside her. 

She wrapped her legs around him tightly, opening herself a little more to his cock, opening her mouth a little more to his tongue. He fucked into her harder, bold and undone, the slap of his hips and the wet, slick sounds mingling loud around them. 

“Touch me,” she sighed, “make me come, Sherlock.”

He slipped a trembling hand between them and fumbled a finger across her clitoris and she felt the fine downy hairs on her arms rise and prickle. Her toes curled into the duvet, and his hands were hot and slippery. Thighs shaking, she arched upwards, legs locking around him as she tensed and then finally, _finally_ came with a low, ground out _fuck_ , all her muscles clenching around him. He jerked forward seconds later, hips moving arrhythmically against her, gasping wetly into her collarbone. _Christ_.

She held him close, panting as he breathed hotly against her neck, only letting him go when he began to squirm, and he slid out with a soft moan and collapsed sideways, chest rising and falling. 

The uncharacteristic smile spreading on his face as he turned to look at her was half warm, half predatory and all smug, and she moved down to slide their hands together, warmth spilling up her arm from the touch of their fingertips.


End file.
